


Incomprehensible

by shingekinosocialskills



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-05-19 06:54:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5957863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingekinosocialskills/pseuds/shingekinosocialskills
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I could see the cracks forming in my foundation and it was not, it was not, <em>it was not okay</em> because I had built my life around him and it required his comforting, steady presence in order to be complete.  He was so intricately and unequivocally woven into every aspect of my experience that, as far as I was concerned, losing him meant losing everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Be strong and hold my hand. Time—it comes for us, you’ll understand. We’ll say goodbye today, and I'm sorry how it ends this way. If you promise not to cry then I’ll tell you just what I would say. If I could be with you tonight I would sing you to sleep. Never let them take the light behind your eyes. I’ll fail and lose this fight; never fade in the dark, just remember you will always burn as bright [as] the light behind your eyes."_
> 
> [Light Behind Your Eyes - MCR](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=76WJJ57YoG0)   
> 

There’s a striking surreality to cancer that makes it difficult to wrap your mind around, especially when it threatens the life of someone you love.  In the same way images of space always seemed more like beautiful sci-fi illustrations than real life (unfathomable, untouchable, and something difficult to connect with the mundane sky seen every day with the naked eye) I found myself forgetting at first, when I greeted him in the mornings or chatted with him over meals, that something I couldn’t see was making him ill. 

There was never a chink in his armor, that robust steadfastness and contagious strength.  It was difficult to remember that he was dying, and that was perhaps the worst part.  It was easy for me to slip into denial but the cost of that denial was that every time reality crept back up to me I had to relive the heart-stopping moment when he told me he was dying.  
  
One such moment struck not long after his diagnosis.  Heretofore a perfectly innocuous moment, us on our worn-in couch, the morning sun reaching through the living room window to touch us with mild, pleasant warmth.  My feet were tucked under one of his solid thighs and his elbow was resting on my knee, and we were having the normal sort of chat two people have on a lazy winter morning when I suddenly realized that the portion of my life was rapidly approaching which would be forever devoid of the comforting pressure of his body pressed against mine.

Whatever it was I’d been saying died on my lips and he must have seen a change in my expression because those ridiculous all-seeing eyes of his softened and he leaned in to hug my knees and allow me to bury my face in his shoulder and cry in his ear.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay, Suga,” he said, as he’d always say, but I just couldn’t believe him.

The problem was that, though there was no questioning how right he was about everything else what with him being the intuitive enigma that he was, I was well within my rights to doubt him in this regard.  Because it was not okay, in any sense of the word, when I realized the thighs I so loved to tuck my feet under were dwindling away and the weight of his elbow on my knee was becoming frighteningly slight.

Though the strong line of his jaw never changed and the infinitely comforting tilt of his smile was just the same as ever, his face became gaunt, his bones jutting out sharply, and his lips and cheeks grew pale.

I could see the cracks forming in my foundation and it was not, it was not, _it was not okay_ because I had built my life around him and it required his comforting, steady presence in order to be complete.  He was so intricately and unequivocally woven into every aspect of my experience that, as far as I was concerned, losing him meant losing everything.  I was as far from prepared as it was possible to be and the abject fear echoed through my bones in a way that was almost physically painful.

He was like smoke in my hands, slipping away no matter how desperately I tried to seal the exits.  It didn’t matter how tightly I clung to his hand, I couldn’t stop the deterioration of his body.  No matter how hard I wished it were all a bad dream it didn’t change the fact that when I woke up and checked on him I would find him frail and tired.  It didn’t change the fact that that where there were once bruises on his arms from rousing volleyball matches, there were now only bruises from apologetic nurses who struggled to place IV ports because his veins were so difficult to find.  
  
I’d think, _“He has no right, dammit, to tell me that it will be okay when he isn’t the one who’ll have to go on alone!”_  Then, of course, the guilt would set in because I just _knew_ I would regret spending even one moment of our time left together being angry at him, especially when he was just trying to share his faith in my strength.

And that was how it went day after day.  In the driest, most ironic twist of my life I spent most of my time engaged in a volley of emotions – back and forth, back and forth – exhausted by my attempts to acknowledge and handle them all, a single player in every position on both sides of the net.  
  
Every day I wondered if it would be the day he would look at me with defeat in his eyes and ask me to take him to the hospital, or if he’d simply collapse and I’d need to call an ambulance.  Or…well.  I wondered if I’d fall asleep one night snuggled into his warmth and wake to find the warmth had gone.

My implicit fear of these possibilities left me paralyzed and in order to function, for Daichi’s sake, I had to compartmentalize them.  I wanted to enjoy as many moments with him as I could while I still had him.  Moments spent mourning him before he was gone were moments wasted.  Time was slipping away with a palpable hiss that sent goosebumps down my spine.  I couldn’t allow myself to miss him yet, he was still there and I refused to take him for granted.

So I treasured him as vigorously as I could and loved him with all of my might.  I let him believe I would be okay because I would have given him anything in the world that he wanted, and he wanted me to be okay.

I smiled with him often and hugged him for much longer than necessary.  I kissed him until we were both breathless every chance I got.  I told him in no uncertain terms how dashingly handsome he was in every outfit and photograph.  I filled every day with seized opportunities and every surface with photos and love notes on post-its.

I painstakingly cataloged every last detail of every sensation and sweet nothing whispered when we made love.  I did everything in my power to grow and solidify Daichi’s mark on my life because even stronger than the dread I felt about losing him was the fear that I’d forget the things I cherished most about him.  His face, his scent, the timbre of his voice, the feeling of his hand on my cheek.  I _couldn’t._   I _wouldn’t._ I _refused._

Even so, it wasn’t enough.  It could never have been, and I felt so stupid at ever thinking it could have been.  As I could sense the end drawing near I realized that, far from being ready, I was growing frantic.  Ultimately, I spent our last moments together feeling frenzied and overwrought, something I’d always regret.  I said his name over and over, clung to him and wept, and willed him to hold on, _just hold on_.  Nothing could have prepared me for the cold desolation of feeling his hand slacken in mine.  
  
Nothing could dull the sharp edge of desperation to fling myself on top of his coffin and be buried with him.  I didn’t want to live but he’d wanted me to, and I’d wanted to give him everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more to this. Also, please don't hate me. DaiSuga is my ultimate, #1, most beautiful OTP. But sometimes an idea just takes you by the ear, ya know? Also, I've aged them up for this fic. ~~Imagine them somewhere in their mid 20s~~ actually, I made some art of how I imagine Suga for this fic - [click here to see](http://vintagemegood.deviantart.com/art/Sugawara-Koushi-Reimagined-634338719)! And, if you're so inclined, [head on over to my blog](http://shingekinosocialskills.tumblr.com) and visit me!


	2. Where Do These Dreams Begin and End?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"All my time is out of focus now.  Is this the first of final life?  I was wrapped inside a warming light when I heard a child's cry.  It was free from being happy or sad.  I can't tell when we start again.  Where do these dreams begin and end?"_
> 
> [lava - Yoko Kanno x POP ETC](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tnof0jyrgA4)

Heat was something I was well acquainted with.  Heat from too many layers of clothing, heat from inside my computer being blown into the room with a whir, heat from mug after mug of fresh tea ever-present at my elbow.

It reminded me of quiet nights wrapped in his arms and tangled in blankets, falling asleep to the muffled, rhythmic sound of his heartbeat and our gentle breathing, feeling just a touch too warm but unwilling to shatter the ethereal atmosphere by moving.

Heat as a whisper, as a ghost from the past keeping me afloat.  Heat, and the luminescent glare of my computer screen.

Often the sole source of light in my apartment, the screen cast the room into stark relief and protected me from the need to see what was around me, things which triggered painful memories but with which I also couldn’t bring myself to part.  The bulk of my time was spent huddled inside that burst of artificial light, too warm and playing peek-a-boo with the past.

For as much as I tried to drown out the roar of emotions churning in my head, usually by pulling more hours for work than I had any business doing, I still found it difficult to focus on anything else.  In front of me was work but, on the clock or off, my mind never strayed far from thoughts of him.

Even a year out the first move I made every day before wearily jabbing the power button on my laptop was to rummage through my favorite items of Daichi’s clothing and pick something to wrap myself in, something I thought could best simulate the feeling of being close to him.  I thought if my body could occupy the same space his had then I was still connected to him somehow.  His scent had long since faded from most of the items I’d saved, including the sweater I chose that morning, but I had intentionally kept a few packed away separately from everything else, hoping that someday, if I found I couldn’t remember him at all, I could pull them out and bury my face in some faint, lingering essence of him.

How many times had I considered doing exactly that?  Nearly every morning, if I were being honest with myself, but the fear of losing the last of what scent may remain prevented me from going through with it.  Worse yet was the idea that I’d open his things and find no scent remained at all, and I didn’t think I could face that either.

My stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, a bone-chilling swooping sensation as from a long fall, as a memory of him, his face alight with one of his signature smiles, flitted through my mind.  I swayed dangerously to one side, knocking over my tea in my attempt to steady myself against the desk.  I cursed at the brief burn of the droplets that splattered against my leg and kicked at the mug.

Vertigo was brutal and increasingly common and unfair, and, the logical side of my brain informed me, most likely the result of my seldom putting anything into my body that wasn’t tea.  I gathered handfuls of the ends of my sleeves, scrunching the fabric tightly in my fists, and pressed my face against them.

“I’m not hungry,” I muttered.

It was a lie, of course.  I was always hungry, I just didn’t _want_ to eat.

I didn’t want to do anything.  I only worked so I could pay for my apartment – _our_ apartment, which I would never move out of – and afford necessities.  Even then I couldn’t work face to face with other people, a deduction I made very quickly after losing Daichi, because I couldn’t muster the gumption to apply myself in a team environment.  Other people, with their intact hearts and ability to work casually and carefree, were like walking, talking slaps in the face, so I found a job remotely troubleshooting technical issues and rolling out updates for a company’s proprietary employee UI and kept myself available for 24/7 on-call work.  It worked for the company and it worked for me, seeing as, if I could help it, I never left my apartment.

My stomach, ever adherent to biology rather than psychology, ignored my incapacity entirely and growled loudly.  I matched it groan for groan and stooped to pick up my mug, now sporting a small chip along the rim, and made for the kitchen to rummage for food and something to soak up the spilled tea.

As I reached for the tea cabinet I smoothed my hand across the sticky note affixed to its front.  “ _Good morning sunshine!”_ it said in Daichi’s small, slanted handwriting.  It was just the sort of cheesy thing Daichi used to say, and there were a dozen other notes just like it stuck in various spots around the apartment, most of them stuck to framed photographs of us together or somewhere I would have noticed as I went about my daily activities.  
  
“Good morning, Daichi.  Or maybe afternoon?  What kind of tea should I have?”  
  
Three sad-looking boxes sat cattywampus on the bottom shelf of the cabinet, all of them, to my dismay, completely empty.  Faced with the possibility of having to actually leave the apartment if my all of my cabinets were as empty as this one, I began to frantically yank open doors and drawers, my heart skittering uncomfortably.

It was all empty - no tea, no food, nothing.

_Shit._

I hated going outside.  I _hated_ it.

Tears pricked at my eyes, but, resigned to my fate, I set to going through the motions of making myself presentable.

I avoided looking at myself in the mirror, relying, instead, on whether my hair felt relatively smooth and orderly, and brushed my teeth with my eyes trained on a spot somewhere near the end of the faucet.  I removed Daichi’s sweater for a moment, shivering against what was a significant chill the air compared with the inside of the sweater, and swapped my wrinkled lounge pants and t-shirt for jeans and a button-down before pulling the sweater back on.

Heart racing, I approached the front door, dropping my keys twice on the way, and placed a shaking hand on the handle.

_I can do this.  I can definitely do this.  It’s fine.  There’s nothing to worry about._

Ten seconds.  Thirty seconds.  One minute.  Time seemed to slow and warp, weaving around me, muffling sound and sending my eyes out of focus.  The breath moved in and out of my nose too fast, too roughly.  _I can.  I can._ The door felt cold pressed against my forehead.  Fatigue washed over me, a vast ocean against the diminishing shore that was my ability to cope.  
  
“I just need to get some food.  That’s all.  Just really quick, just one small trip.  I can do this.”

With a deep breath I tightened my grip on the now-warm door handle and twisted.  Dim orange light greeted me, all warm evening hues and quiet goodbyes to the day.  The outside air was crisp and cold, a new sensation for my lungs after so long indoors.

Some weak, distant part of me missed this, relished it, a small spark trying to flare to life with the introduction of this small catalyst, but my anxiety had grown too strong.  The irregular staccato of my heart, the deafening whoosh of my pulse in my ears, reminded me that out here was where people were, people who could never understand the depth of my loss and the apathy that had ensued.  People who would try to talk me out of it when I didn’t want to be talked out of it, when all I wanted was to spend the rest of my life trying not to forget a single detail about Daichi.

I pushed my thoughts as far out of my mind as I could and put one foot in front of the other, sure that if I could lose myself in the _left, right, left, right_ rhythm I’d be able to manage.  It wasn’t far to the nearest store and there weren’t many people around at this hour.

I hugged myself, more a pointless defensive measure than anything, and kept my head down as I walked.  I was aware, after a few minutes, of the falling-away of buildings in my periphery and realized I must be walking past the park.  I normally avoided the park if I could because of the potential for running into familiar faces, but willed myself to calm down.  After all, who would still be at the park this late in the day, especially with the weather as chilly as it was?

“SUGA?!”

My blood ran cold and I was sure my heart had fallen clear out of my body.  Though my feet were frozen in place I couldn’t bring myself to look in the direction of the voice, a voice so familiar and dear to me, and now perhaps the one voice I wanted least to hear.

There he was, and I was sure he was all bright eyes and wide smiles as usual, barreling across the space between us like he always did.  I braced myself for impact and listlessly wound an arm around him as he embraced me, his wild ginger hair tickling my face as he chattered in his token stream-of-consciousness way in the general direction of my chest, asking me how I’d been and why hadn’t I called in so long, and _Suga I’ve been really worried about you, you really need to come out with me sometime!_

“Hi-Hinata!  I, uh…Well, I don’t know…”  
  
He wound a hand into the crook of my elbow and pulled me in the direction he’d come from.  “Guys!  Look who I found!  Guys!”  
  
I was torn between the urge to rip my arm out of Hinata’s grip and run, and the desire to not hurt his feelings.  I was nowhere near prepared to face other people, especially people who were likely familiar and worried about me and who I was sure were fully prepared to subject me to an in-depth interrogation.

Sweat began to bead across my forehead and my throat constricted painfully, threatening me with an involuntary crying jag, and then it was too late.  Jogging toward Hinata and I were four figures, only one of whom registered vaguely as being unusual - Ennoshita, Takeda-sensei, Coach Ukai, and Oikawa Tooru.

Being the only one whose face didn’t register shock or pity or some combination of the two – perhaps because he and I had never been more than acquaintances - Oikawa was, strangely enough, the most welcome of the group for all of two minutes.  I’d never had any friendly obligation to him, thus he was spared the guilt and fear I felt warring for majority as I stuttered responses sidestepping the probing questions of my former club peers and mentors.

Unfortunately for me, mere minutes later I realized that while I could look none of my friends in the eye as I lied to them about my well-being I was somehow unable to avoid Oikawa’s gaze, which was intense and unsettlingly like Daichi’s used to be when he just _knew_.

It seemed to me that, beyond knowing I was lying, a fact of which I was sure they were all aware, Oikawa could somehow see into my mind and know exactly how bad things really were.  Having known him in high school as someone who could bring out the best in anyone no matter how badly off they were, I did perhaps have an overblown impression of his perceptiveness, but I couldn’t help feeling that if I stuck around long enough he’d connect the dots even without me offering the information.

I had to remind myself of how ridiculous that would be because, really, he could know no more than he’d heard through the grapevine, and the only person who’d ever known me well enough to read me like that was dead.

Still, I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack and I could think of nothing worse to have happen in front of this group of people.  All thoughts of food and tea forgotten, I begged their pardons and excused myself, pretending not to hear their good-natured admonishments and requests for updated contact information.

When I was sure I was out of sight I broke into a run, my breath hitching as my lungs rebelled, tears falling freely.  It seemed only a moment before I was back in front of my apartment door, too beside myself to coordinate putting the key in the lock and turning the handle.  Instead I leaned heavily against the door and sank to the ground, wishing there’d never been a need to run away from my dearest friends.  Wishing I could have enjoyed the playful reds and oranges of the fading dusk and the starry night sky.  Wishing I could somehow bring back the brightness and promise that had been lost with Daichi.  I was so far gone I almost didn’t startle when I felt a hand press firmly against my back, between my shoulders.  
  
“Breathe,” a voice commanded as I felt my head being guided into position between my knees.  “You’re okay.  Take all the time you need.”

My teeth, my lips, my skin, everything seemed to buzz, and I realized my vision had grown splotchy and dim.  The hand at the base of my neck was cold, steady and strong, pulling me back from the precipice of unconsciousness.  
  
“Good.  That’s it.  That’s it.  Better?”  
  
I nodded.  
  
“Do you need help up?  Do you need me to unlock the door for you?”  
  
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling pathetic and helpless, and nodded.

I produced my keys, holding them up with shaking hands, still unable to look up and see who was helping me.  There were the familiar sounds of my door opening, and the steady pressure of that hand again, this time under my arm, pulling me up, gentle but insistent.

Perhaps it was a sort of sixth sense or premonitory force, or maybe I subconsciously remembered that voice, but I found, when I stood and faced my good Samaritan, that I was not as surprised as I ought to be to find Oikawa Tooru standing there, his expression a mixture between genuine concern and mild amusement.  
  
“Why?”  I asked, my voice a croak after so much gasping for breath.  
  
“I had a feeling.  You looked really _not_ okay.”  
  
We stood silent for half a beat, me suddenly self-conscious with heat spreading across my cheeks, and he leveling me again with that unsettling gaze.  I looked down at my hands.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
“It’s nothing.  You’re not going to keel over or something as soon as I leave?”  
  
I shook my head.  
  
“Good.  I’ll be going now.  Goodnight.”  
  
And just like that he was gone, and for the first time in so many months my abject despondence gave way to something different – confusion, and, as I watched his retreating form, the smallest hint of disappointment at the loss of another person’s company.


	3. Even if It Kills Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“For the first time in a long time I can say that I want to try. I feel helpless for the most part, but I’m learning to open my eyes. And the sad truth of the matter is I’ll never get over it but I’m gonna try to get better and overcome each moment in my own way. I so want to get back on track, and I’ll do whatever it takes, even if it kills me.”_
> 
> [Motion City Soundtrack – Even If It Kills Me](https://youtu.be/qjrNYZiOjwo)

I stood in front of the house as I had so many times before, as intrigued as always by the appearance it gave of being like a dollhouse.  Wraparound decks on each of its five levels gave the impression of it being open and waiting for a hand to reach in and move its furniture and occupants.  Seeing it filled me with a painful sense of longing, I could never resist its inviting draw.

Except for the crunch of gravel beneath my shoes, all was silent as I walked around the side of the house and approached its only entry point.  The door melted away at my touch and I was enveloped in a momentary darkness as the house pulled me into its interior and sealed itself shut again.  As my vision cleared I realized I was on the fourth floor, the Finding Floor, and my heart leapt and pounded against my ribs.

Everywhere I looked there were people, a roiling crush of outrageously dressed and painted bodies sliding beside and between one another, some atop saddled wild animals, some practicing acrobatic acts, all moving in and out of the rooms along the main hallway.

Daichi was here somewhere, I knew it, and I had to find him quickly or I’d miss my chance.

I broke into a run, or as much of a run as I could muster amongst the crush of other people, and began trying to catch people to ask if they’d seen him.  I reached and grasped, I tried to use my body to stop anyone I could, but they all slipped away, always just out of reach.  I tried shouting, imploring anyone to stop, but they were all too busy. 

Frustrated, I began to shove my way through, hoping that I could check every room before my time was up.  Approaching the nearest door, I tripped and stumbled through, only to find, when I looked up, that I was back in the main hallway.

With a small cry of exasperation I began, again, to press myself through the throng, suddenly sure that Daichi would be waiting in the room at the end of the hall if I could just get there.  The crowd seemed to grow as I went, pressing back against me, slowing me to the merest crawl, and I wished I could climb on top of them and crawl across the tops of their heads.

I just needed to get to Daichi before it was too late!  I needed to try harder!  If I could just push hard enough I could break through!

But no, they pushed, suddenly unified, a solid mass of bodies - pushed me back, trying to push me out of the house.  I begged them to stop, hot tears springing to my eyes as my heart thudded in fear and panic, but they were intractable, uncaring, and I was falling, falling four stories to the ground…

I jerked awake in my bed, my exposed feet too cold and my upper half too warm, feeling suffocated by my own breath under my blanket.  I clawed my face free, still feeling panicked, and rubbed at my eyes.

The low light filtering in through the cracks of the blinds on my window suggested it was sometime in the evening.  I had the heavy, sluggish feeling of having slept all day, a not-unwarranted feeling considering I _had_ slept all day.  I looked around, still bleary and unsettled from the dream, and wondered whether I’d bother getting out of bed now that so much of the day had slipped away.

My stomach growled loudly in protest, having not been given so much as a drop of tea since my failed attempt to buy food the previous day, but I reasoned that more sleep would also render me blissfully unaware of any hunger pangs.  I’d nearly convinced myself to straighten out my blankets and burrow under them again when I heard the sharp rap of knuckles against my front door.

I cast a wary glance in the direction of the sound, hoping I’d misheard and that, perhaps, the knock had been on a neighbor’s door, until the sound came again, pert in its cadence and the exact opposite of what I wanted to hear on _my_ door pretty much _ever_ , but especially at that moment.

I lingered a moment longer, hoping the person would give up, but their next knock was, if anything, more insistent and I thought it might be best to just answer, see what they wanted, and send them on their way as soon as possible.

With irrational irritation at how good it felt to stretch my legs, I lurched out of bed and shuffled through to the front door, tempted to shout a cantankerous remark about how they ought not get their panties in a twist but not quite able to muster the courage.  After all, someone was at my door and obviously determined to speak with me, and for all that it was anxiety-inducing and bothersome, it was also sort of flattering.

Unless, of course, the person at the door was some sort of salesperson.  Or law enforcement.  Or serial murderer.  _Oh, fuck this._

I ripped the door open before my thoughts had a chance to run away with me and found Oikawa on the other side, his eyebrows high on his forehead in surprise and a bag of what appeared to be takeout food in his hands.

Seeing him standing there looking sharp and put-together, with a small smile of amusement sliding onto his face, sent me on a comical spiral from irritation to self-consciousness.  There was no way I could look any sort of presentable, and the loud rumble from my stomach did nothing to abate my rapidly growing embarrassment.  
  
“May I come in?” He gestured in the general direction of _in_ with the bag of food and I, unable to come up with a good reason to refuse, stepped back from the door and motioned him inside, my mouth watering as the scent of the food wafted past me.

I felt terribly exposed as he showed himself to my kitchen, his sharp eyes sweeping across my modest living room and all its mementos from the past as we made our way through.  He deposited the bag of food onto the counter and began lifting its contents out and lining them up.

“There’s a little place right near my flat I’ve been meaning to try for ages,” he said, prying the lid off of the first container, “I’m hoping it’s good, you can help me be the judge.”  
  
I couldn’t think of how to respond but was sure he couldn’t misunderstand, when I presented him with two bowls and sets of utensils, that I was agreeable to trying the food.  If nothing else, my stomach, with all its insistent growling, would have communicated the desire for food clearly enough on its own.  
  
“I don’t have any tea,” I admitted as I grabbed cups for each of us, “Will water be okay?”  
  
He smiled as he turned, bowls full in his hands, and made for the table.  “Water is great, thank you.”

I avoided his gaze as I settled in across from him.  Sitting now in my comfort zone with an entire day’s worth of time having passed since my meltdown, I was embarrassed to think back on it, and with him sitting across from me I found it impossible to stop replaying it in my memory.

With no small amount of regret, I felt my appetite slipping away and anxiety begin to creep in.  I felt a bit envious of him as he chewed his food earnestly, apparently analyzing it for quality, but I didn’t trust my stomach to behave.  It did feel rude to refuse to eat, though, and I wasn’t surprised when he gestured at my bowl.  
  
“I know I heard your stomach growling.  Do you not like this kind of food?”  
  
I felt my face flushing.  “It isn’t that.  I’m just…I wanted to apologize for yesterday evening.  It must have seemed pretty silly.”

He waved off my apology.

“I know a thing or two about panic attacks.  Honestly, don’t even worry about that.  Listen, I don’t want to make any assumptions, but you’re a lot bonier than I remember you being and you’re really pale.  And your stomach was going nuts, I could hear it.  I’d bet money you’re not eating properly.  If you’re stressing out about yesterday, just forget it, I’m not judging you.  I’d just really like to see you eat something while I’m here.”

_Easier said than done,_ I thought, but I was somewhat comforted by his assurances, at least enough to see the happy return of my appetite.  I hadn’t eaten in how many days?  Two?  Three?

After going that long without, the feeling and flavor of the food was overwhelmingly exquisite.  I couldn’t help my eyes fluttering shut or the satisfied sigh that hummed out through my nose of its own accord.  When I opened my eyes Oikawa was staring at me with an inscrutable expression and I felt my cheeks heat again.

“The food is- the food is really good,” I stammered.  He blinked once, twice, and then smiled at me again and nodded as he made to tuck into his food again.  
  
“It really is!  I’ll have to go there more often now that I know.  I’m glad you like it; you’d better eat a ton.  You’re way bonier than I remember.”  He jabbed a finger in my direction.  “I won’t allow it.”

Cheered by the food – which really was divine – I started to feel more at ease and soon found myself drawn into conversation.  With just the right balance of entertaining storytelling and engaging questions, he led the conversation with all the finesse I would have expected of him and kept me from retreating into my thoughts.

I had barely had time to wonder what the point was of his visit when I could sense the conversation coming around to the topic of my behavior the previous day.  Realizing how dark it had become as the last of the day’s light faded from the windows, I got up to flick on the overhead light and, as I returned to my place across from him, noticed him looking around at some of the photographs and keepsakes I had on display.

“You and I didn’t cross paths very often back in high school,” he mused, turning his attention back to the space between us and sliding our empty bowls and utensils together in the center of the table, “But I remember you being very lively.  Especially during our last match together.”

He quirked an eyebrow and gave me a devious grin.

“You were certainly a pain in my backside that time.  I remember I always called you Mr. Refreshing because you always seemed to know just what to say to your team to restore their vigor and, man, that smile of yours could light up a city block.  I thought, sometimes, that you might lack the confidence of some of your teammates but you had all the drive you needed, and even though I would never have admitted it, I was a little jealous of the way your teammates clearly loved you.”

He sighed.

“I was a good captain, as conceited as that may sound, but my teammates spent a lot of time being sick of my shit.  I only ever had my abilities going for me, and that doesn’t matter so much in the end.  After graduating I lost touch with most of my teammates, but it looks like you were still very close with all of yours until recently.”

I looked down at my hands, trying to brace myself.  I knew the moment had finally come when I was going to be held accountable for the disintegration of my life; if his easy command of the conversation up to that point were any indication, there was no way I would be able to convincingly sugarcoat the driving forces behind my behaviors, and any refusal to answer would essentially be an admission.

He had cornered me, and I’d half-willingly allowed it.  It felt ironic that a veritable stranger would be the one who was finally able to chisel away at the wall around me, but I would be lying if I said I never wanted anyone to reach through and pull me out of the suffocating pressure of my depression and anxiety.

Perhaps I had unconsciously hoped that he, being as bold as he was, and less invested in my approval of him than my friends were in my approval of them, would be willing to risk being pushed out of my life permanently just to try to figure me out.  He’d taken the time to follow me home and help me work through a panic attack.  Maybe that was indicative of his willingness to help on a larger scale.

I cleared my throat and met his gaze.  It was best to be honest and straightforward.  “I fell apart when I lost Daichi.”

“I can’t say I blame you,” he replied without hesitation, unfazed by my straightforwardness, “He was dependable, the former pillar of Karasuno.  He was strong and steady and also universally loved.  I remember him well.  I remember thinking, at first, that he was boring and unremarkable, but that was before I knew Karasuno very well.  I can imagine he was the best of partners and the best of friends.  I’m truly sorry that you lost him.”

I didn’t try to hide my crying.  Listening to someone else talk about Daichi was different from my constant internal dwelling.  By now, after keeping myself so isolated and not having heard anyone else talk about Daichi for so long, it seemed almost like he had only ever been a dream.  Oikawa’s words underlined the fact that Daichi had really existed, had really made an impression on someone other than me.

Oikawa’s memories were like a footprint left by Daichi in the sand.  It was thrilling and devastating.  
  
“Do you have tissues?” he asked, “Should I get some?”  
  
I shook my head, wiped my face with my sleeves.  “Don’t worry about it.”  
  
He was silent a moment, seemingly lost in thought, staring down at the surface of the table and rubbing the tip of his nose with his index finger.  I welcomed the pause, trying to get my sniffling under control.  
  
“Do you feel like you can’t talk to your friends about what’s going on inside your head?”

I considered his question and decided I wasn’t sure.

“I don’t think it’s that I feel like I can’t talk to them.  It’s that I don’t know what to say in the first place.  A lot of what I feel is something I can’t really explain, but even then, I think I would try if I felt like I could leave my house in the first place.  It’s not that I don’t want to be around them, it’s that being around them means extended time away from home and I can’t keep it together for that long.  I can’t really explain why that’s so hard for me, but I just can’t be away from here without freaking out.  Even just calling my friends, I know I won’t be able to explain why I can’t meet with them, so I just avoid contact completely.”  
  
“They could come here,” he offered.  I shook my head.  
  
“I haven’t been able to put away Daichi’s things.  I’m afraid that if they see that they’ll tell me I need to.  They might even try to help by doing it themselves.  I don’t want anyone to do that.”

“I don’t think anyone would do that.”

I shook my head again.  “It’s just a fear.  I know it’s probably irrational, but I can’t help it, it’s still there.”

He hummed, his finger returning to the tip of his nose.  “What if you could be assured that leaving your house wouldn’t result in unexpected run-ins with anyone?  If I invited you to my place and promised not to invite anyone else behind your back, would you be willing to give it a shot?  It would get you out of your house and interacting with another person, but it wouldn’t have to be overwhelming.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to refuse, but I could see what he was trying to do and there was a part of me that wanted to seize the opportunity to work towards some kind of normalcy.  I missed my friends, I missed the outside world, I missed the laughter and fun.  Conversation with Oikawa came naturally, he would be able to draw me out of my shell so I wouldn’t have to stress about being withdrawn, and if I took a cab the chances of bumping into anyone on the way there would be much lower.  
  
He smiled encouragingly.  “Yes?”  
  
“Well…”  
  
“Say yes.”  
  
I sighed.

“I guess that would be okay.”

  
He leaned across the table to deliver a sound pat to my shoulder.  “There you go!  It’ll be fine.  We’ll keep it low-key and you can leave anytime you want to, okay?”  
  
We agreed that the following Sunday would be a good day to give the plan a shot, and began cleaning up.

He left me with the rest of the food - and I wondered if he'd gotten way more than necessary because he guessed that I needed it - and a declaration that he would hold me to the plan.  I had no doubt that he would, and as exhausted as I felt as I locked the door behind him, I was also far more pleased than I could ever have guessed I would be about the fact that someone was finally there to push me toward the edge of my comfort zone.


	4. Everything is Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Give me a reason to end this discussion, to break with tradition, to fall and divide. 'Cause I hate the ocean, theme parks, and airplanes, talking with strangers, standing in line. I'm through with these pills that make me sit still. Are you feeling fine? (Yes, I feel just fine.) [...] I'm sick of the things I do when I'm nervous, like cleaning the oven or checking my tires, or counting the number of tiles in the ceiling..."_
> 
> -[Motion City Soundtrack - "Everything is Alright"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0iB8FPrauFw)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, it's been a while, hasn't it? Life strikes again...
> 
> But here we go! A nice, new chapter. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, please forgive any formatting oddities, I had to post this chapter from my phone because I have no internet for a few days. \\(-_-)/

There were eighty-eight tiles in the ceiling above my kitchen.  A good, satisfying number - even, repetitive, symmetrical.  I lay on my back with the coolness of the laminate floor seeping through the fabric of my shirt, counting the tiles by row, and then by column, and then by multiplying one row by one column.

My taxi to Oikawa's would be arriving in a few minutes and I could find no relief from the pressure in my chest or the awful lurching of my heart as it hammered irregularly against my ribs.  The impulsive bravery that had fueled my candor with Oikawa seemed now to have been a byproduct of his presence and had disappeared along with our physical proximity.

Since then enough time had passed that I began to wonder what the acutal hell I'd been thinking to agree to go to his house and socialize with him.  I barely knew him, for fuck's sake!  And I'd let him talk me right out of my comfort zone.

"Stupid, stupid, _stupid_ , Koushi!" I hissed, pressing the heels of my hands hard into my eyes.

I wasn't ready for this.  It was too fast.  I couldn't be expected to just waltz out my front door, out from under my plethora of emotional challenges, just like that!  How dare he try to sweet talk me into this stupid idea!  Of all the presumptuous things to do!  It would serve him right if I just cancelled.

The familiar clash of emotions roiled and thundered in time with the colorful sparks and blooms bursting in the darkness behind my closed, squashed eyelids.  There was anger and fear, as always, and now guilt because I knew - or, well, I felt pretty convinced - that Oikawa was actually trying to help.  It was probably unfair to paint Oikawa in such an unkind light.

And if I were being honest with myself, I had to admit I was really between a rock and a hard place, because by some inexplicable miracle Oikawa had swiftly, deftly edged me into a new emotional frontier, one where all the sadness and anxiety were suddenly being challenged by a small but significant desire to recapture the parts of my life that were still there to be enjoyed.

Though I couldn't admit it out loud - to anyone who wasn't Oikawa, anyway - I was tired of feeling ashamed of my reclusiveness, and I didn't want to lose my friends.  I missed the warmth of interaction with other people, I missed smiling and laughing.

If I could just find a way to walk the line between trauma scars and a healthy verve, maybe I could at least operate with some level of courage in my various friendships.  I had enough insight to know that seeing firsthand that nothing bad was going to happen would go a long way in hacking away at the disordered thinking that had overgrown and infested my mind.  It was just that my brain never stopped screaming at me and it was hard to hear anything else over it.

With a sigh I lowered my hands and tried to blink away the blurriness in my vision before taking cursory look at my phone.  The taxi would arrive any minute, and at this point it would take more courage to cancel than to go.  Time to get up.

**

Oikawa's place was smaller than I'd imagined it would be.  Decorated with a sort of Spartan interest in functionality over form, it had all the quirky charm of a small bookshop with its sparse, slightly mismatched secondhand furniture and posters framed after they'd already gotten creased.

It was tidy enough except for the crumpled wads of paper littering the floor around a rather droopy, but pleasantly squishy-looking couch.  A laptop and a notebook rested precariously on the arm, implying that Oikawa had been working on something up until my arrival.  Desperate for an opening so I wouldn't have to languish in my own awkwardness, I gestured toward it.

"Work?"

"Alas," he sighed, stooping to pluck the paper balls from their helter-skelter places on the floor.  "I'm told I work too much, but a man's got to make a living somehow.  Please excuse my mess."

I waved him off, my nose crinkled in distaste at the thought that anyone who'd been in my dusty dwelling felt they had any need to apologize to me for not cleaning up.

"What do you do?" I asked, wondering what the chances were that he was in IT like me.

"Oh, this and that."  He disappeared into a miniscule kitchen and deposited the crumpled papers into a trash bin nestled between the fridge and counter.  "I freelance, mostly.  I edit the sports sections in a couple of local newspapers, sometimes I take photos for volleyball teams around the prefecture.

"For nostalgia's sake, I pop into Seijou now and then to say hello and pick on the kids, but I don't get paid for that.  Honestly, they couldn't pay me enough to babysit those pipsqueaks."

There was a twinkle in his eye as he stood, hands on hips, in the kitchen threshold and fixed me with a playful smirk.  "Were we that insufferable in high school?"

An image of Tanaka leapt to mind - Tanaka hollering and swinging his shirt around, Tanaka intimidating new teammates and rival club members - and I laughed.  It sounded clumsy, rusty.

"I like to think I was at least bearable in comparison to some of my teammates," I said, playing at confidence.

Oikawa scoffed, but there was no malice behind it.  "Well, not all of us could be as angelic as you, Refreshing-kun."

At that, my cheeks heated and I looked away.

"As for me, I'm pretty sure that if I hadn't had the skills I did my team wouldn't have put up with me.  Ah, you don't need to stand the whole time, Suga-san, please sit."

He scooped up the laptop and notebook and patted the couch, and I obliged.  He plopped down beside me and continued talking, a fact for which I was grateful.

"At the time, all I cared about was volleyball.  I just wanted to play.  Well, that, and I wanted to make sure Kageyama never surpassed me.  And I wanted to beat Ushiwaka.  Mostly I just wanted to be the best.  I worked hard, played hard.  I knew exactly how to pull the team together.  Coach couldn't deny me, so even when I was being an obnoxious shit, everyone just had to deal with it."

There was definitely a dash of playful malice in his words this time.  I couldn't help a small smile.  

"My, how penitent you are, Oikawa-san."

"Ha!  Not at all, and I'm not afraid to admit it.  Even now, I still love to give my old teammates hell."

"I'm sure you delight them at every turn."

"It's still their favorite when I preen and whine in front of them."

I gave an undignified snort.

"Well, you have the right to preen, if nothing else.  At least you've always looked put together.  Back in high school I may have looked less like a potato than I do now, but I still wouldn't have called myself stylish.  All I had going for me was my supportive team mom skills.  No gaggles of girls following me around."

Oikawa eyed me skeptically.  "A potato?  Really?"  He shook his head.  "It wasn't just your 'team mom' skills that made people love you."

I sputtered, my face going up in flames again.  "F-flattery will get you nowhere, Oikawa-san!"

"If you say so, Suga-san.  I'm just saying that it's pretty difficult for a potato to have even some of the straight dudebros from other interhigh volleyball teams sending blurry snaps of 'that backup setter from Karasuno' to one another with 'DTF' captions."

"Oh my god."

Oikawa nodded sagely.

"Oh my god!"

My hands flew to my face, covering my eyes and undoubtedly beet-red cheeks.

"Well," I said, muffled, "it is a small sort of accomplishment, I suppose.  Your flattery might get you somewhere."

"In that case-" From between my fingers I saw him rise from his spot on the couch and make for the kitchen once again, "-you certainly do not resemble a potato in any way, even now.  Tea?"

I managed a slightly strangled-sounding "Yes, please!" through the sudden constriction in my throat.  Had he just--?  It had been ages since anyone had complimented my appearance.  In fact, the last person to have done it was Daichi.  I had no idea how to handle it anymore.

No, this wouldn't do, I decided, scrubbing at my still-warm face.  I needed to change the subject quickly.  I cast around for something to say as the sounds of him rummaging for cups and filling the kettle carried into the living room.

"So-"

It came out as a pre-pubescent squeak.  I cleared my throat and tried again.

"So."

Better.

"Speaking of volleyball, I would have bet money that you would be jet-setting all over the place, representing Japan on the national team.  Why are you editing local papers?"

Shit.  Too intrusive.  I sounded judgy.  He was going to be mad at me.

"I-I mean, you don't have to answer that, I didn't mean..." I trailed off, afraid to look toward the kitchen.

He emerged with a sigh and two cups, which he placed on the low coffee table in front of us.

"No, it's fine.  I'd have bet money on it too.  I was pretty close.  Several universities had already taken an interest in me, and I fully intended to ride a scholarship all the way through uni, where I just knew I'd play so well I'd have a spot on the national team in the bag by graduation.

"After Karasuno stole my final win -" he shook his fist at me "- there were fewer interested scouts, but even so, I landed a good scholarship for a uni not too far away, a familiar one whose team often came to Seijou to practice with us.

"They would never put first year students in the starting lineup but there were rumors they were considering breaking the rule for me and I decided I'd give them no choice.  Unfortunately, with Iwa at a different uni, I had no one to nag me into taking breaks and getting enough sleep.  My knee was already bad from an old injury and overuse.  I wasn't eating well or resting enough.  One day during practice I landed badly after a block and I knew I'd done something bad.  It ended up being a torn ACL."

Seemingly unconsciously, he placed a hand on the knee in question and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"That's terrible," I said.  "Was it beyond repair?  No help with physical therapy?"

"Well, of course they went in and did all their doctor-y stuff, removing old scar tissue and trying to set things to rights.  They said it was likely it would never be quite the same, but if I kept up with PT and took care of it I could probably return to volleyball at some point.

"I had every intention of following doctor's orders as closely as possible, but I never really got a chance.  Despite caring for it exactly as they told me to, somehow the surgery site became infected.  Antibiotics weren't working and it became septic.  

"I had to go back to the hospital, and they had to keep the wound open and drain it all the time.  My knee was so swollen, it was really awful.  After that there was just too much damage to the tissues and joint.  I would never have the same mobility, I would never be free of pain.  There was just no way after that."

The sound of the kettle whistling stopped me before I could respond.  I found myself looking for a limp as he went to fetch it, but he seemed to have learned to compensate for any weakness or pain.

I thought it was a horrible shame that someone as dedicated and talented as Oikawa would be dealt such a bad hand.  It seemed life had a penchant for destroying the dreams and happiness of the people who worked the hardest and loved the deepest.  

True, he could have taken better care of himself, but there were also people not half as talented who never took self-care seriously and still found success in sports.  It was unfair, plain and simple.

I must have been frowning pretty seriously because he tutted as he returned with the kettle and reclaimed his spot on the couch.

"Don't look so upset, Suga-san.  It's been a long time since then and I've settled into this kind of quiet life."

"What about malpractice?  A surgery gone so wrong seems like something the surgeons should have been responsible for."

"Oh, trust me, they didn't just ignore what happened.  I didn't really have press it, it was more like they didn't want me to sue so the hospital automatically waived the cost of the original surgery and the costs associated with staying in the hospital for treatment and recovery from sepsis.

"I was also given a stipend to cover the costs of things like crutches and knee braces, that kind of stuff.  The only thing I really had to pay for was my prescriptions because they need to be refilled indefinitely, but that's really not so bad."

I nodded and blew at the surface of my tea.

"What did Iwaizumi-san have to say about it?"

Oikawa was quiet for a long moment, long enough that I began to suspect I'd really said the wrong thing this time.  An apology had already formed on my lips when he finally spoke.

"Iwa lectured me, of course.  'It's your own fault, Trashy-kawa, you never know when to stop!'  But he still came over every day to help me out and keep me off my bad leg.  I transferred to a closer college after it all happened, moved back home.  Iwa always had mean words to say, but he was always there for me."

He fell silent again.  There was a sort of finality to the way he said _was_.  As in, _Iwa used to always be there for me, but now he's not_.  I wondered if Oikawa would offer the story behind the word or if I'd have to pluck up the courage to ask.  I opted for sipping my tea and waiting to see if he would speak again.

He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed at his eyes.

"It's been a while since I've heard from him.  I wonder how he's doing."

"Did something happen?"

Did I sound too eager to know?  Did it seem like I was treating his painful memory as a delicious morsel of gossip?  Was I being a jerk asking that kind of question?

Another long silence, another sigh.

"Yeah.  I happened."

He looked at me, his eyes full of the persistent pain of an old wound that refused to heal.  I wanted to reach out and grasp his shoulder the way I would have done to a teammate after a bitter loss.  Instead, I kept my grip on my mug and waited.

"I usually just let people think we grew apart, as you do when you leave high school.  It's easier than being honest, because if I'm honest I'll have to face the look in peoples' eyes that says it's my fault.  I think it's safe to assume you know what I mean when I say the time's just not right yet for people like you and I, Suga-san."

I blinked once, twice, confused as to his meaning.  Then the realization dawned on me.

"Oh.  OH.  So you're...?"

He nodded.

"Not Iwa, though.  And I knew that.  I swear I did.  I'm not stupid, you know?  But I had somehow allowed myself to hope, to wonder if maybe the reason he stuck around me even knowing I was gay was because his heart might make an exception for me.

"In truth, I just think he never anticipated that I might fall in love with him.  Or if he did, maybe he thought being rough enough with me would deter me from doing something stupid.  We'd been best friends since we were tiny kids, you know?  Maybe he thought it would be that way forever.

"Honestly, I wish it could have been.  I wish I'd never fallen in love with stupid Iwaizumi Hajime.  Such a lug, just muscle for brains.  Stupid Iwa.  But I did.  He's a really great person, smarter than he looks, and really protective.  I couldn't help it.  I ended up confessing one day when he came over to help me."

I winced.  "Uh-oh."

"Yeah.  It went about as badly as something like that can go, though not exactly the way you'd expect."

I set my mug on the coffee table.  "What do you mean?"

"Well, as much as Iwa played at being mean, it was always just that.  He was playing.  Iwa acting like that was how I knew everything was okay between us.  When I told him I was in love with him, he didn't make any of his usual rude remarks.  It was one of he rare times when he didn't have a scowl on his face.

"He looked sad.  He didn't yell at me.  He didn't tell me to stop being stupid.  He took me seriously and he told me he couldn't return my feelings.  And he said he'd known for a while, and he'd been thinking for a long time that it was probably best if we spent some time apart, for my sake, so I could move on."

I swallowed hard, trying to stop the lump from forming in my throat.

"He...he wasn't grossed out or anything, was he?"

Oikawa shook his head.

"No. No, I really don't think so.  In fact, I think he was sad that we couldn't be around each other anymore.  But he really thought it would be too hard for me if we kept spending all our time together. 'You can't just stop yourself from feeling stuff, Oikawa,' he said.

"I guess he was probably right, it did get easier over time.  But I literally never heard from him again once we said goodbye that day.  He really meant it."

"How long ago did that happen?"

"It's been almost six years."

"Six years?" I asked, aghast.

He nodded.

"Six years.  It really doesn't seem like it's been that long, but it's true.  I'm still sad about it, but like I said before, he was probably right thinking us going our separate ways would help me.  I think I'm more sad now that I may never see him again.  I wish I could tell him he doesn't have to worry about it anymore.  I still miss my childhood friend, you know?"

"Wow, yeah.  I'm really sorry.  I didn't mean to bring up a sad topic.  Which is really starting to seem like my specialty these days," I mumbled apologetically, rolling the edge of my sleeve between my fingers.

Oikawa shook his head.

"No, don't be sorry.  I should be apologizing to you.  I invited you over hoping to help you feel better and here I am telling you my story of loss and heartbreak.  I should be ashamed of myself.  But if it means anything, I'm grateful to you for being the first person I could be honest with about it."

This time I actually did reach over and place a hand over one of his.  The back of it was smooth and cool to the touch.

"I'm grateful to you too.  You don't know how much it helps me to know that heartbreak is something other people experience.  I'm not alone.  I mean, I knew that on a logical level, but I didn't actually know anyone who'd lost everything like I had, and that made it hard to relate to anyone.

"I almost cancelled today and I'm glad I didn't.  I'm out of my house, I'm not having a panic attack.  With you here to keep me occupied, I haven't had time to spiral.  I'm already feeling better about spending the day over here.  So thank you."

With that, he smiled wide, bright, and genuine - something different than the showy grin he used to use on fangirls, or the sarcastic smile reserved for polite interactions with rival team members.  It was a smile for friends, a smile that meant something, directed at me.

I couldn't help the smile that formed in return, unbidden, on my own face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read my little story. If you like what I do, please follow me on [Tumblr](http://shingekinosocialskills.tumblr.com), where I make a post every time I update this fic, and I also share tons of fandom goodies from all over Tumblr.
> 
> And if you'd like to see some of my art, which is primarily fandom art, please give me a watch on [DeviantArt](http://vintagemegood.deviantart.com)!


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